By The Firelight
by cassandra quail
Summary: After a hard day on their quest, the party wind down by a camp fire. As the night goes on and doubts surface, Eight (Hero) finds comfort in Angelo. Hero/Angelo. Red/Yangus mentioned.


Originally written for SwordofRebecca for Rare Pair Fest 2014 on AO3.

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><p>It had been a long day for Eight and the party, and they were all in desperate need of some respite. Trode and Medea had turned in early, and were contentedly sleeping under the shelter of a large tree. The others were sitting around a fire, drinking ale as the orange rays of the setting sun began to fade into darkness.<p>

Jessica was exhausted, her body drained of all energy after concentrating so hard to cast her spells. She had been rather proud of the kafrizzle that had finished off Captain Crow, but conjuring a fireball of that size had really taken it out of her. Her eyelids were drooping and she was growing tired of the sound of Angelo's voice.

"I'll see you in the morning," she mumbled through a yawn, and headed over to the wagon to get ready to sleep.

Around the fire, the conversation began to drift back to women, and an increasingly drunk Yangus started to reminisce about the old days with Red, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia.

Angelo's eyebrows were raised in amusement, and he asked, "So what's the most you two ever made on a deal?"

Eight sat quietly, swirling the drink he'd been nursing for the past hour around in his flagon, waiting for Yangus to respond. The bandit was thinking hard, but after a few moments he simply shrugged.

"I can tell you about our best celebration though, Guv," he said, nudging Eight and splashing him with ale in the process.

"Go on," said Angelo.

"Well, we'd just shifted some rare daggers for lotsa money an' were feelin' pretty pleased with ourselves. We were in the mood to spend some of our loot – or at least, I was. We were goin' to splash out good an' proper on some quality food and wine, but Red thought it would be more fun to steal it. The security at the casino used to be a bit lax back in the day, so we made off wiv as much Champagne as we could carry and got outta town before anyone could catch us. It was magnificent." Yangus' lips were curled in a dreamy smile. "We sat up all night under the stars, drinkin' that Champagne, 'til we both fell asleep after watching the sunrise. 'Course, she was gone in the morning, an' so was mosta the loot, but it was good while it lasted."

Eight and Angelo exchanged glances.

"I didn't know you had it in you," said Angelo. "You never struck me as a great romantic."

Yangus chuckled. "You don't strike me as someone who'd know the meanin' o' romance."

Eight thought he observed a hint of a blush as Angelo said dryly, "I may appear to be a womanising lowlife, but there's more to me than meets the eye."

"Is that right?" said Yangus provocatively, draining his flagon. He reached for the large bottle of ale to refill it, but changed his mind halfway through. "I'm sorry, Guv, I think this ale's gone to my head. I should get some sleep too."

"No worries, Yangus," said Eight. "We've all had a rough day."

Yangus waved a hand at him as he rose from the thick log he'd been sitting on. "As long as you don't take the Mick tomorrow, I'll be fine. Just need some shut-eye." He too headed towards the wagon, where Jessica was wrapped up snugly in two blankets, snoring softly. Yangus was too tired and too drunk to bother finding a blanket; he flopped down on the grassy bank next to her and was asleep within seconds, leaving Angelo and Eight sitting next to each other, staring into the fire.

Angelo got up briefly to pull the bottle of ale closer, before pouring some into his flagon.

"Would you like some?" he asked Eight, who shook his head. "Come on, you've had that same drink all evening. You should loosen up a little. All this travelling and fighting is hard, not only physically, but mentally too."

"I can loosen up just fine without the ale," said Eight, putting another log into the fire. It crackled loudly in front of them, devouring the wood like a hungry wolf. "On the other hand... I must admit, even though we're getting closer to Rhapthorne, it's getting harder. I wonder how long it will take until we finally beat him, until we break this curse. That is, if we even get there in the first place."

"We'll get there." Angelo's voice was full of grim determination. "For Abbot Francisco, for Alistair, for Trodain... We'll get there."

Eight smiled weakly. "I hope you're right, Angelo. It's painful seeing the princess like this."

"You're blushing," said Angelo, a mischievous sparkle flickering in his eyes. "What's the deal with you and Medea?"

"It's nothing," said Eight, stammering a little. "Besides, you know that she's..."

"Engaged to Prince Charmless?" Angelo chuckled. "Poor princess. She's almost better off as a horse if it'll get her out of marrying that brute. Still, that doesn't answer my question."

Eight finally finished the drop of warm ale in his flagon. He wondered whether to pour himself some more. The stars were twinkling in the night sky above them; it was late, but he didn't feel ready to sleep. Not yet. It seemed as though Angelo read his mind perfectly. He picked up the large bottle and refilled both of their flagons.

"Don't worry," said Angelo. "You're not the only one doomed in love."

Suddenly something clicked in Eight's mind, and he blurted out, "Jessica?"

Angelo cleared his throat, and took a sip. "That obvious, hm?"

"There are a few signs." He picked up a stick from the ground next to him and began poking the fire absent-mindedly.

A hollow laugh escaped Angelo's lips. "She can see through me. Through my gambling, my arrogance, my so-called success with the ladies. She sees me for the pathetic failure that I am, and that bothers me far more than it should."

"I thought there was more to you than meets the eye?" said Eight.

"Perhaps," said Angelo with a weak smile.

"You're a good guy," muttered Eight. "You're loyal, kind... You're a fine swordsman, and your healing magic has saved our skin more times than I can count."

Angelo said nothing; he just watched the light of the flickering orange flames dance over the face of the young man beside him.

"At first, granted, you did seem like a cheating, womanising lowlife, but deep down I think we both know you're more than that." Angelo raised an eyebrow. Eight coughed, and took a long sip from his flagon. His cheeks were burning, and it wasn't from sitting too close to the fire. "Well, that didn't come out right."

Angelo began to laugh, and Eight's tense muscles relaxed a little. "There's nothing wrong with a little honesty, I suppose. It's nice to know where I stand."

"You did hear the end of that sentence, though, right?" checked Eight with smiling eyes.

"Yes," said Angelo softly. "Yes I did. Thank you." He paused for a second, before changing the tone. "You know, this is probably the most I've ever heard you talk. You play the part of the silent, stoic hero so well."

Eight simply smiled at him, watching as he brushed a silky curtain of white hair behind his ear.

"Now, you're doing that on purpose," said Angelo with a smirk.

Eight's glistening pink tongue poked through his lips.

"I like it better when you talk." The roar of the fire seemed deafening in the silence. "I – I mean that. For the silent type, you really do know all the right things to say."

Eight felt his pulse quicken. Blood flushed to the surface of his skin, invigorating all of his senses. His throat was dry, and he drank more ale to compensate, falling deeper into the odd sensation.

"I truly am grateful, you know," continued Angelo, seemingly oblivious as he tossed more wood into the flames, sipping thirstily from the full flagon in his hand.

The delicate tranquillity of the night was disarming. A large crescent moon shone brightly in the clear sky, illuminating the landscape with an eerie, mesmerising beauty. Angelo's features were radiant in the soft orange glow; Eight felt an unusual dizziness and shortness of breath as he took everything in.

Angelo put his empty flagon to rest on the soft grass, and looked at his companion with a quizzical expression. "Do you need me to put you to bed? Perhaps I shouldn't have encouraged you to drink that second flagon of ale..." He drew nearer. "Here." He stood behind Eight, gently put his arms under his shoulders and began to pull him up. Eight turned to face him.

"I'm not -" His sentence was cut short as he felt the warmth of Angelo's breath on his cheek, and softly but firmly their lips met. He drew back. "I'm not drunk."

"I'm sorry," said Angelo, taking a step backwards. "Here you are, reassuring me that there's more to me than the womaniser I appear to be, and here I am..."

"I'm not a woman," said Eight, his smile both innocent and seductive in equal measure. "Still, what would the others say...?"

A crooked smile grew on Angelo's lips. "They're fast asleep. They'd never know."

Eight blushed. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but Angelo's arms were still wrapped around him and he didn't want their comfortable embrace to end. He looked up at the delicate features before him, his eyes moving over the striking blue eyes, the slightly tousled white hair and that exquisitely inviting smile.

Slowly, gently, Angelo leaned forward and Eight felt his warm breath tickle his cheek. He felt Angelo's soft lips close around his, and closed his eyes as he felt the hot, slippery warmth of the other man's tongue. He ran his hands over Angelo's back as they moved deeper into the kiss, before moving down and round to his firm bottom. Eight felt Angelo's quiet, low moans as his hands also began to explore.

Breathing heavily, Eight drew back. "Wait. Wait."

"Something wrong?"

Eight hesitated. "Well... I've never..."

Angelo couldn't help smirking as he whispered, "Don't worry, you'll enjoy it."

Eight's heart fluttered; his skin prickled and a shiver of excitement danced through his body as Angelo leaned in to kiss him again, pulling him tight. And yet, there was still something holding him back. He dragged his lips away from Angelo's, kissing his cheek as he pulled away.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"What about Jessica?" Eight gently took hold of the hands resting on his back and placed them at Angelo's side. He turned back to face the slowly dying fire.

Angelo chuckled bitterly. "You know what she thinks of me, Eight. Besides, I could ask you the same about Medea. Why are _you_ doing this?" He went to throw more wood on the fire, and Eight flopped back down on the log he'd been sitting on before, Angelo's words echoing in his head. Angelo sat down beside him.

"Look, Eight... This isn't easy for me to talk about, but unlike you I'm not a hero. Frankly, I'm terrified of what lies ahead and sometimes I don't know if I have the strength to hold it all together. I need... something to help me to push it out of my consciousness for a while."

"I'm a distraction?" asked Eight curtly, though he understood what Angelo was saying far more than he wanted to admit.

"A very pleasing one," said Angelo lightly, hoping to cut through the tension. His body was still aching for the young man after their passionate kiss.

Eight was silent for a moment. He bathed his hands in the crackling warmth of the fire, wondering whether he dared break the silence with the truth.

"I – I feel the same, Angelo." He exhaled slowly. "I just want to forget about travelling, monsters and curses. Just for once. For one night. If that's even possible."

Angelo took his hand and pressed his lips against it. "We can help _each other_."

Eight didn't have to think about it; the tingling desire came flooding back to his body and he moved onto the other man's lap, kissing him desperately. The two men sank back into the long grass, and Angelo couldn't help but smile as he felt the fresh night air blow over his body as Eight unbuttoned his jacket, the grass tickling his ears. With the eager young man showering him in hot, urgent kisses, there was no room in his head for anything troubling and he let himself drift away and get swept up in the moment.

In that moment, nothing mattered to either of the men but the sweaty body entwined with theirs, the harsh cold of their air in their lungs as they panted and gasped for life, and it was exactly what they needed to keep going.


End file.
